Archive of Our Own

THE HERO sees land. He doesn’t think when he sees the sliver of green and grey in the horizon, he just gasps and begins to push himself to shore, paddling and kicking for his life. Fatigue envelopes his body and makes him hyper aware of his achingly empty stomach and his dry mouth.

As he gets closer and closer to the island, he hears clicks and the sound of rusty gears turning. He has no time to look for the source of the noise, however, and the clockwork suddenly rolls to a stop as it seems to sense his presence.

He pays it no mind, however. He has a single goal. That single goal is to get to land. It’s a race between his rapidly depleting levels of energy and himself.

He kicks and paddles and kicks, until the ocean is visible through the clear Mediterranean waters. Then, he kicks the plank aside and wades through the water desperately. When he gets to the beach, he scrambles up towards where the sand is dry, before collapsing in a pile of relief.

The sand is burning hot; it scalds him like a hearthstone, but he doesn’t care. He suddenly is hyper aware of the shortness of his breath, the headache between his brows, and the emptiness of his heart.

The guilt sets in first.

He knows that it’s his fault that his men all died. Had he not gone to sleep after visiting the God of the Winds, he could have stopped them from foolishly opening the can of wind they were gifted and they would be back at Ithaca right this moment, reuniting with their families. He should have known not to trust them with important things like Aeolus’ treasures. Serim would be reuniting with his son and his family right now. His wife. If he just made the right decisions, he would be seeing their faces right now, right in front of him.

He thinks of Eunbi, but tears begin to fall immediately. How could he be so selfish as to think of his own family when he would have to face the families of his men when he makes it back? If he even makes it back. Their deaths are in his hands. He is responsible for their actions.

All of this dawns upon him as he lays on the beach with his back to the sky, disoriented from dehydration and hunger. He fists the sand in an attempt to contain all the emotions that come spilling out of him like a poisonous waterfall. His breath comes out in short, ragged gasps as he looks up in an attempt to see where the little piece of his broken ship took him. 

He can’t even gather the energy to stand up. It’s like his life force is being sucked out of him by feelings of guilt, resentment, and self-hatred. 

So he sobs. He sobs like he never did before, tears streaming out of his eyes. He’s aware of the redness spreading across his skin where the sun scalds the smooth golden muscle, but he tells himself that he deserves it. Even through his severe cunning, his Metis , he still couldn’t save his men. 

He would do anything right now to be laughing with Seunghun, or to be dancing on the deck with Wooyoung as his other men watch in good humor.

But they’re all gone now. And he’s here.

He shouldn’t be here.

But suddenly, his name is being called.

“Serim?” a soft voice sounds out from next to him.

Serim looks up, and is met with a pair of wide, shining, chocolate brown eyes that remind him of home.

THE KEYHOLDER was never his father’s favorite child.

Allen wasn’t nimble and quick like his sisters, nor was he tall and strong like his brothers. He was the youngest of all of them; the runt of the litter. His siblings never made him feel such a way, however, always allowing him to tend the orchard and run through the fields with them, but he knew. He knew that he would never hold the same glory in the tongues and stories of mortals and immortals that his father would in the same way that his siblings had the potential to do.

However, his mother loved him the most. Despite not being particularly strong or nimble, she knew he was the most charming and cunning. He would talk his way into anything he wanted, with a simple bat of his eyelashes and the shortest string of words containing promises he knew he couldn’t keep. The shine in his brown eyes got him everything; the largest and shiniest golden apple in the orchard, a little bit more time to speak to his father as the Titan upheld his many daily duties, the largest can of apple cider, and the softest tunic to wear. His siblings adored him.

His childhood was defined by laughter, love, and golden apples sweeter than sugar. At the very edge of known humanity was where the garden lay, surrounded by bare, dry grassland. It was an oasis in the middle of a wasteland. The trees were surrounded by a tall steel fence with thin, dark rods intricately shaped patterns. The grass was always green and the trees were tall and provided plenty of shade for him to rest under when he got tired. 

The apples that grew on them were made of pure gold. However, when bitten into, it became apparent that these weren’t just metal shaped like fruit. Each and every apple tasted like a  different type of chocolate. They were juicy and he never grew tired of eating them. Each one had a unique flavor and he was always excited to bite into a new apple and uncover its secrets. 

His brothers and sisters would pick him up and hold him in the air so that he could reach the apples. He always felt a surge of triumph when his stubby little fingers enclosed around an apple and pulled it from the branch.

His siblings all loved him; they would pinch his cheeks and let him win when they played tag. You’re so cute, they would say. Why are you so cute?

When it came time for the Titanomachy, his brothers and sisters were entrusted to Chronus’ army to fight against the next generation of gods: the Olympians. It became obvious that he would not be participating in the same way when Chronus took him aside to speak privately, outside the hearing range of his brothers and sisters.

“While your brothers and sisters fight,” said the God of Time, “I want you to stay in this garden and keep this key. I need you to do everything you possibly can to preserve it.”

“What is it for?” The Keyholder asked, his eyes wide. 

The God of Time smiled softly; his nephew really knew how to steal anyone’s heart. It would prove useful to him in the future; he knew it. “After this War is over, I will tell you.”

So the Keyholder stayed in the garden while his brothers and sisters left for battle.

He waited endless days and nights, passing his time by picking apples and tending the orchard. He kept the key around his neck, making an obsessive habit out of touching it to make sure it was still there. Sleepless nights and endless days passed, and his anxiety grew and grew as he wondered what could possibly be happening to his brothers and sisters.

Visions of his sisters being imprisoned and his brothers being thrown into the depths of hell plagued his mind. The constant thought that he might be next haunted him every night, taunting him into cold sweat and tears as he held the key close to his chest. Sobs would rack his body as he hugged the blanket closer to his body to make himself smaller. He wanted to disappear into the darkness so that no one would ever find him.

One night, he sat under the thickest tree of the orchard, his back to the trunk in hopes of blocking out the constant need to watch his back and look behind him. Needless to say, it didn’t work. 

His reaction to a small woman standing in the shadows was, for those reasons, quite predictable. He jumped up and backed away slowly.

“Who are you?” he whispered. “Why are you here?”

The woman slowly emerged from the shadows. Her soft, light hair was covered in a shawl, revealing hollow eyes and curled lips. Her hands were covered by a thin tapestry, which she held in her hands as if it was something more precious than gold.

It suddenly dawned on Allen who she was and the thought made him shake his head in denial. It was his time to die. The world had ended, the string had been cut, and the Titans lost the Titanomachy. However, as she approached him, it became obvious that he was mistaken.

“I am a Fate,” the woman said. “I am here to warn you because there is no one else to do so.”

“What warning do you have?” Allen said. He didn’t try to hide anymore. He knew that there was no masking his terror from this woman.

“In a couple of days, a man will visit this garden,” said the Fate. “His name is Jungmo.”

“Why is he coming here?”

The Fate’s eyes were a deep blue. Allen wanted to get lost in them and never come back.

“He wants the key. But you must not give it to him,” the Fate said. “That key is made of Stygian Iron. Jungmo is the Lord of Riches. He will sense the metal on your chest.”

“What must I do?” Allen whispered, below his breath.

She heard him. “You must take one of the many keys to the shed of the orchard and replace the one around your neck with the key to the shed. This way, he will take a key, but he will not take the right key.”

Allen nodded, and that was when he realized that his eyes were filled with tears. “I understand what I must do.”

“One more thing before I leave,” the Fate murmured. “Your destined soulmate will be the Hero lost at sea. You will save him from his misery and he will save you from yours. This tapestry—” she handed him the tapestry in her hands, “—shows you where the two of you shall remain for eternity.”

“Thank you,” Allen whispered, taking the tapestry from her hands. She melted into the shadows, never to be seen again. 

When he looked at the tapestry, he only saw a woven picture of the night sky, speckled with stars.

THE KEYHOLDER AND THE HERO stare at one another, the Hero with an expression of grief and numbed pain and the Keyholder a mixture of shock, relief, and something more.

“Serim,” the man in front of him breathes. “You’re here.”

“How do you know who I am?” Serim rasps, his voice rough from the dehydration that the sea subjected him to. He isn’t thinking before he’s speaking; he hasn’t been able to do so in some time. 

The man looks taken aback, like Serim just pushed him away and told him to back off. Chocolate irises flicker from side to side and towards the ground, small feet shuffle backwards. 

Serim’s brows furrow as he looks up at the man in front of him. He’s not sure why this guy is so upset at the simple question.

“I…I’m not sure,” breathes the man in front of him, staring at his own bare feet in the sand. 

Serim doesn’t like the way everything seems right now. He doesn’t know if anything is real, and he wishes he could be at home. He musters the energy to stand up, using the last of his energy to push himself upward. He tests his height next to the other man. The islander fiddles with his fingers and waits for Serim to say something.

“I apologize…I’ve been rude,” says the man, looking up. Obsidian eyes meet chocolate brown, before the smaller male breaks the gaze and says, “You should come inside and have some water. That is, if you would like to.”

Serim is starving and he has not had any liquid in what feels like years. “I would appreciate it,” he settles for saying, masking his desperate thirst poorly. The other man can hear his scratchy voice as clear as daylight.

The man leans a forward and gives Serim both of his hands. Serim rubs his eyes, before registering the man’s obvious gesture of kindness. He takes the hands in front of him and tries to hoist himself up. It’s fruitless, however. He doesn’t have any strength less. Despite this, he still finds himself standing upright, the man’s almost inhuman strength having pulled him up. Serim takes a step, but he feels incredibly dizzy. Shapes and silhouettes melt together, even in the broad daylight, making him lose focus. 

Nonetheless, he takes a step forward, and another, and another, until he is walking right behind the other man. The sand is scalding hot, but Serim’s feet already feel like they’re baking in hot coal, so he just bears with the circumstances as they trudge along through the sand. It doesn’t look much like you would think a beach does; it has no palm trees and the sand isn’t vibrant or pretty. It only looks vaguely dreary. The sand is a dull color of white and the water is clear, mirroring the light gray of the cloudy sky.

They eventually approach a cottage that looks like it's built into the side of a cliff. Vines climb up the beige wall and circle around the pale green door frame. The windows are wide open, almost as if the house was welcoming the wind inside. 

The most peculiar thing, however, is that the door doesn’t have a lock. 

Serim doesn’t question the door’s missing lock. Maybe the man in front of him doesn’t care about security, and it’s not like he can say anything about it if that really is the case. 

The man pushes the green door open with a creak, motioning for him to walk inside. 

Thankfully, there are no vines on the inside. There is a small wooden table with two stools facing a small window, where light poured in and illuminated the small kitchen next to the table.

“Please sit there,” the man says, motioning to the stool, and Serim obliges as the man picks up a jug of water and pours the water into the cup. When he gives the cup to Serim, Serim tries not to gulp it all down at once like some sort of madman, but such efforts prove futile on his part, considering the fact that he hasn’t been single droplet of water down his throat for the last three days.

He takes the glass of water and gulps it down furiously, nearly slamming the cup down on the table when he finishes. Suddenly, he can see clearly again. The world begins to come back into focus, and he rubs his temples briefly before looking up at the other man. 

The man looks genuinely frightened. It seems like it was just the loud noise that startled him, but Serim looks at him apologetically either way. “Sorry,” he says, “I just haven’t had water in days.”

The man swallows. “Well, would you like some more?”

With each gulp of water, Serim feels more and more refreshed. Soon enough, he can see clearly, feel clearly, and think clearly. He takes in the look of the small abode he was invited into. Paintings hang the walls, oil works of flowers and skies and sunsets and cool midsummer evenings with a darkening sky. He absorbs in the red brick walls and the white ceiling, the vases filled with flowers and the extremely kempt state of the bookshelves lining the walls. 

His eyes land on a tapestry hung in the middle. The constellations in the tapestry are the most intricate designs that he has laid his eyes on in his 29 years of existence. 

“Did your wife weave that?” Serim finds himself asking.

The man’s wide-eyed, innocent guise morphs into a stricken expression. “Of course not! What makes you think I have a wife?”

It’s indeed weird the way that the man gets so defensive. Serim doesn’t comment on it though, because he is after all, in this man’s house, drinking his water, and receiving hospitality. “I apologize,” he says, “I am mistaken.”

The other man is silent for a long time, before turning and opening a cupboard. “I was wondering if you were hungry.”

“I am very much so,” Serim replies. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

“It’s no problem,” says the other man, “really.”

He reaches into his cupboard and pulls out a loaf of bread, various assortments of cheese, and some fruit. The promise of the soft slices of bread topped with cheese and apple slices makes Serim’s stomach growl. 

Serim hasn’t eaten in forever. He watches as the man slices through the loaf of bread, producing a uniform slice of a nearly perfect thickness. He watches as the bread is coated in cheese and topped with thin apple slices that the man cuts skillfully, far more skillfully than any other man Serim has known. 

“How shall I refer to you?” asks Serim, as the man prepares the second piece of bread.

The man slowly tops the second piece of bread with a thin apple slice, before turning around. He brings the plates to the table and sets one in front of Serim.

“Do you really not know who I am?” he says, slowly sitting down in a chair next to him.

“I apologize, but I do not,” Serim says, before picking up a slice of bread and taking a bite. The flavors blend together in a mixture of the savory cheese, the tart sweetness of an apple, and the softness of the bread.

When he finally looks up, his host has not taken a single bite and instead looks at the table with tears brimming in his eyes.

“Why do you cry?” Serim inquires, setting the remaining bit of bread down in slight frustration. “What is upsetting you so much?”

The man takes a deep, shaky breath and looks to the side, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “My name is Allen,” he says, finally, “but you may know me from the stories of others as Calypso.”

THE HERO’S WIFE hooks her pinky under one of the strings and pulls, watching as the burial shawl unravels slowly under the moonlight. She looks out the window and stares at the moon, big and bright. She prays that it will tell her the answers to the problems that she has been dealing with for years and years.

She then finds herself pondering upon the love she has for her husband. Of course she loves him, but she thinks that she would not have loved him had they not spent day and night together. She would not have loved him if she didn’t feel like she had to. 

The moon rests high in the sky, and Eunbi thinks of Sakura. 

Is her trip across the sky tonight peaceful? Does she feel at ease? 

She then wonders why the moon goddess chose her, of all people. Why she chose her to love, and why she left her in the end.

“I must go,” whispered Sakura.

“Why?” Eunbi whispered back, broken. She’d seen this coming. 

“You have a life to live,” Sakura said. “We were never meant to be this way.”

Make me immortal, Eunbi wanted to say. Make me yours forever.

But she knew what was holding her back. She didn’t want anything to change. She wanted to live happily ever after in Elysium with Serim. 

Perhaps being a goddess would be better, but she found that she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to leave Serim behind and allow her son to fend for himself. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to give up her entire life. 

Nighttime is always Eunbi’s greatest source of comfort. She enjoys the way that the house and the world suddenly becomes silent. No one’s awake, but the knowledge of her solitude has never scared her. It simply means that there’s more room for her to think. It also means that she can look up at the moon.

The suitors are quite annoying, really. Men are all annoying, and she never found any solace in their persons, not even within the embrace of her own father when she was younger. They are selfish, materialistic creatures with fragile egos.

Thus, she enjoys the loneliness that nighttime brings. She walks to the washroom connected to her bathroom. There, she picks up a jar of honey and proceeds with her nightly beauty routine. 

After she washes off the thick layer of honey on her face, she looks at herself in the mirror.

“Who are you?” she whispers.

THE HERO lets out a low sound of satisfaction as he enters the hot spring, feeling the blood in his body roar to life. It makes him feel alive, finally, as the hot water fills in the gaps in his collarbone, under his arms, and between his thighs. 

For a while he simply basks in the physical sensations of the hot water, feeling it soften his body and loosen his mind. The earth doesn’t exist in that moment, the spring is his entire world. 

When he opens his eyes and looks at his surroundings, he is met with low hanging vines and flowers from a tree, filled with flowers and fruit that he’s never seen before. The scent makes him stir; it puts a buzz in his system as he thinks of his wife. His wife, with her small, delicate petals lips and shining eyes. His wife… 

He cups a handful of water and splashes it on his face. He runs a hand through his unruly black hair, attempting to untangle it. His efforts prove to be fruitless; he’s not combed his hair in months. 

Instead, he opts to scrub at his shoulders and arms. He uses the pads of his thick fingers to get into every single crevice of his shoulders and back. Water drips off of the well-sculpted muscle, losing heat and becoming colder. 

His biceps clench as he washes his face. It’s only so long before he realizes that he’s crying again. He wants to find a way back home immediately, but he feels so helpless knowing that there’s nothing he can do.

He looks up at the moon. It glints resentfully at him, telling him everything he doesn’t want to hear. He looks away from it. 

“I made dinner, if you’re hungry.”

Serim looks up to see Allen, dressed in a new tunic embroidered with intricate patterns of flowers and stars. His hair looks freshly combed, falling in front of his face and covering his sparkling eyes. 

“Thank you,” Serim says, looking away and leaning back. “I’ll be out in a second.”

Allen is silent. Mild melancholy seems to emulate off of him as he looks up at the stars once, before sitting down and dipping his feet into the spring.

“You know, usually, when there are springs in the ground, it means that there’s an active volcano on the island, right?” Serim asks skeptically.

The other man looks up, his lips set in a straight line. “It won’t explode,” he says. 

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m immortal, and I’ve been here on this island before you were even born,” Allen quips back.

Serim is slightly shocked by Allen’s tone of voice, before he speaks up again. “Are the stories true?” he asks. “Are you really cursed to fall in love with any man that comes to the island?”

Allen doesn’t say anything. He only looks down at his own two small feet, gently and slowly paddling in the water. When he finally looks up, Serim notices tears in his eyes. 

“So what if I was?” he whispers brokenly, looking up at the stars. “Would you want to leave?”

Serim doesn’t have an answer for him. When he climbs out of the water, he’s not oblivious to Allen’s longing gaze on his tan skin pulled taut over his shoulders, pectorals, and biceps. His gaze only lingers for a split second, before Allen tears his gaze away in shame. 

He doesn’t see the single tear that escapes Allen’s eyes before the other slips his feet out of the pool and moves to join in back in the cottage, where the comfort of vegetable pies and almond cookies await them. Where thoughts and noise could be drowned out by the promise of a full stomach.

When THE KEYHOLDER saw the figure cloaked in black, he didn’t have to look twice to know who it was. Nonetheless, dread filled his chest and he willed himself to stay still. 

“Can whoever resides in this garden provide hospitality?” called the newcomer. “I am lost.”

Allen knew that this man was not lost. Allen also knew that this was Jungmo, or Hades, the oldest son of Chronus and Rhea.

Allen took a deep breath and emerged from the tree that he stood behind, feigning innocence and surprise. “Hello,” he called meekly. “I am the temporary patriarch of this land. Who are you?”

The newcomer was a cloaked figure, whose eyes were hidden by the shadow of a hood. His pink lips were curled into a sweet, benevolent smile that almost, almost, made Allen give into the sweet but false promise of benevolent company.

When the newcomer reached back and let the hood fall away from his head, he revealed an unruly mane of wavy black hair that curled around his ears and fell in front of his grey eyes. Centuries later, these eyes would be coal black from the darkness of the underworld. A youthful, beautiful face was uncovered as the stranger brushed his hair back.

“I am Jungmo,” the stranger said, his charismatic eyes lingering on Allen. “I have been lost and weak for some time. If you could please provide me with ambrosia to eat and nectar to drink, I would be most thankful.”

“Why, of course,” Allen replied, smiling back equally flirtatiously. When the man smiled, Allen had to remind himself that this was not a time to let his guard down. Just because this being was attractive and beautiful didn’t mean that he wasn’t the enemy.

“Yena, please escort our guest to the kitchen and give him a glass of water and a meal,” Allen calls, feigning serenity in his voice.

Yena appears quickly, bowing to Allen. As she leaves with Jungmo, she turns and shoots Allen a knowing look. The look that he returns to her is a look of desperation and helplessness.

When they’re out of his sight, Allen leans against the tree and takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to have to deal with this. Nonetheless, he picks up the pieces of his resilience and puts them together. 

The garden shed is only a couple of yards away from where he is right now. He opens the box in front of it and fumbles for the key inside. When his fingers find the cool metal, he pulls it out and replaces it with the key around his neck.

He closes the box and takes a deep breath. No one is going to steal it. The key is not going to disappear. 

Just to make sure, he takes a bunch of vines and covers the box. He was satisfied when his efforts make it appear as though vines were climbing up the side of the shed. 

He tries to comfort the voice in his head that tells him that the key isn’t there, that it’s disappeared, and that he needs to check if it’s still there. He walks away from the box with a new key hung around his neck. 

THE KEYHOLDER AND THE HERO eat the simple dinner silently, watching the stars out of the window.

“I want to discuss sleeping arrangements with you,” says Allen. “I only have one bed. If you are okay with sleeping in a chair, or on the floor with a blanket, I will arrange that for you. Otherwise, the bed is relatively large and can easily hold over two people.”

“I’m fine with the bed, if it is okay with you,” Serim replies, his eyes still counting the glittering stars outside the window. “I am not suspicious of your presence despite all of the stories that surround you, if that is what you are worried about. You do not seem evil.”

Allen looks at Serim and uses the moment to admire his side profile. He’s handsome, with his hair swept back and sharp eyebrows intensifying the eyes that seem so far away. The emotions that he feels towards Serim feel like fear. That’s when he realizes that it is fear. He’s very much afraid of this new man, who showed up suddenly on this island, and inevitably, like the unspoken prophecy dictated, in his heart as well.

“I will take out a new blanket and pillow for you,” says Allen calmly, before taking his empty dish and moving to the water basin. 

The blankets are stored in a large closet behind the bedroom. Allen undoes the padlock before stepping into the large, dark room. 

Have any of the Olympians paid you a visit recently?

Allen looks up, startled at the sudden appearance of the voice. He shakes his head, taking a shaky breath before standing on his tiptoes to reach for a blanket on a shelf. 

Remember that you can’t let any of these lost men throw you off track.

Chronus’ voice sends unpleasant chills down his back. He fumbles for the blanket on the shelf, but only ends up finding thin bed sheets that he doesn’t need. 

I want to remind you that you have a duty towards the Titan generation. You are the only one above ground who I can communicate with. You have already failed us once. If you fail us twice, your soul will be chained down harder than mine. 

Allen clenches his jaw.

You have a fate, but we also have fates as well. You don’t want to be selfish do you? You don’t want your father Atlas to hold up the sky forever, do you? If you don’t do what you need to do, I’ll make sure your father has to hold up the sky for all of eternity. One wrong move and your brothers and sisters will be imprisoned in Tartarus. 

A silent scream escapes Allen’s lips. He grapples for the blankets as he wills the tears to stay in his eyes. 

One day I will be strong enough and you will see. I will bring all of us justice. If you do not do your part, I will find a way to escape anyway. 

Allen’s hands land on a thick sheet and he grabs it desperately. He picks up the pillow on the ground and runs out of the closet. 

You can’t run from me. Even if my energy fades, I’ll always be back.

Allen slams the door shut and walks down the hallway as quickly as possible. The voice doesn’t relent, even as its volume wavers as Allen walks through the folds of time in space within his own home. 

You’ll never escape from me as long as you’re on this island. And you’ll be on this island for a long time, Chronus tells him as his presence weakens and fades away into the corners of Tartarus for another period of rest. 

THE KEYHOLDER spends nights in his bed wishing for there to be another man there to hold him. Tonight, as the moon shines bright into the small cottage, there’s another man in his bed, but this man does not hold him. This man doesn’t give him the love he always wanted.

This man is cold and distant. His strong build is covered by a blanket that he does not share with Allen. Like all of the other men who washed up on shore, he has a wife.

Allen looks at the moon. The moon glints in empathy, almost comforting him. I know , it seems to tell him. 

He knew Serim’s name the second he washed up on that beach. He knew because Serim had been showing up in his dreams. He knew because Serim’s name was on the tongues of the Olympians every time they came to visit his island, their noses raised and secular issues that he didn’t care for on their lips. Serim’s name called out to him.

He dreamed of Serim for so long, even before he came to this island. He dreamed of Serim, on a ship with his men, laughing and enjoying the sea breeze. He dreamed of Serim, fighting in battle alongside other strong warriors. He dreamed of Serim, holding him in his arms and kissing him with smiles softer than cherry blossom petals. He dreamed of Serim, promising him a forever. 

He glances at Serim’s calm, sleeping face. It’s so confusing. Fate tells him that he and his Hero are meant to be, but it also sends him multiple heroes. It makes him fall in love with each and every hero that he meets. 

He used to be sure of himself and sure of his future. However, ever since he was condemned to this island, he hasn’t known anything. He doesn’t know anything anymore. 

Serim shifts in his sleep. “Eunbi…” he calls softly, and Allen finds his heart breaking again.

He turns away from Serim. He doesn’t want to look at him right now. He doesn’t want to look at his cloudy future and the strange present. He doesn’t want to think about what’s going on right now.

THE KEYHOLDER and his guest danced around each other. Allen saw Jungmo’s appreciative eyes on him. He saw the way that Jungmo spoke to him over breakfast, kind and polite, but always seeming to want something more. He also saw the way that he responded to these gestures, flirtatious and attentive. 

Slowly, his guard was broken down. He wasn’t afraid. If Jungmo was here to just take the key and leave, he would take the garden key, and no harm would be done.

On the thirteenth night of Jungmo’s stay, they laid on their backs together in a clearing in the orchard. Allen found himself thinking, Maybe he isn’t my enemy. Maybe he is my lost Hero, and he has washed up on my island of golden apples in the middle of a makeshift sea of stars.

When Jungmo kissed him under the stars, his mind went blank. 

But the next day, Jungmo was gone. And so was the key that his uncle had entrusted to his keeping. Within the span of a week, he was forced to watch his brother and sisters pledge their loyalty to a cocky, indecisive man he’d never seen before. He was forced to watch his father be condemned to holding up the weight of the heavens. 

Finally, he himself was condemned to a small island in the sea. A rift in time, it was called. Ogygia. As he stood in front of the gods of Mount Olympus, he was given his punishment by that same cocky, indecisive man who was the destruction of his entire livelihood. Why had Fate tried to warm him if the key would end up in Jungmo’s hands anyway? Perhaps they don’t know everything. Perhaps Fate is limited as well. 

He couldn’t help but think he was naive, so naive to believe that Jungmo wouldn’t betray him. So naive to believe that Jungmo truly loved him. 

However, when he looked up and met Jungmo’s eyes as the god of the Underworld sat on a throne, he discovered that maybe he wasn’t as naive as he thought. Jungmo’s eyes shone with the sadness of a love lost long before it was even created. And that was how Allen knew that he wasn’t the only one who felt it.

Just like that, Jungmo became his first love. 

THE HERO’S WIFE, like many other women, has been told that her physical beauty is the greatest and most important asset that she can have. Sadly, it’s what men have always wanted her for her entire life. 

Because of her beauty, her family members always pressed her about getting married. “You’re a beautiful woman. You deserve a handsome and strong man to marry. You deserve the best man on this land.”

That’s how Eunbi ended up marrying Serim. He was incredibly handsome, with smooth, golden skin that women gushed over, a physique seemingly sculpted from bronze, and he could shoot an arrow through 9 axes. 

When he first approached her, she felt guilty. She felt lucky, but guilty at the same time because she felt like she didn’t deserve this man’s attention. His attempts to court her made little progress because of her reluctance. She gave into him eventually, but even as he blessed her with his easy smiles and adorable laughter, it was never easy for her.

It was never easy for her to love any man. She never felt attracted to wide shoulders or strong builds. She remembers teenage years of guilt and crying herself to sleep because of her inability to love. 

She remembers Serim as she sits on the terrace outside of her bedroom. She wonders if she ever did truly love him. She loves him, but she knows it’s only because they’ve been married for years, not because she was attracted to him. 

She clutches the wine glass in her hands as she hopes for him to return. She feels like every day is a day closer to her doom, when she will have to choose one of those suitors to marry. She’s never been so drawn to the thought of Serim before; he’s the only man that she can tolerate the presence of. His soft, smooth voice reminded her of ocean currents. 

Maybe she could tolerate him because he looked like a woman to her. But it’s a bit late to contemplate such things, is it now?

“Enjoying the wine?” 

Eunbi looks up to see the most hated suitor of the entire group. He approaches her slowly, but it’s not out of respect for her privacy.

His name is Minhyun. He’s incredibly handsome, but Eunbi knows what kind of person he really is on the inside.

“It is very tasteful indeed,” Eunbi replies, as politely as possible. She doesn’t leave room for conversation, but somehow, the asshat finds a way to keep it going anyways.

“My cousin owns a vineyard,” he says. “The vineyard gets its pricing from its age. The trees are deeper rooted into the ground.”

Eunbi grits her teeth. “That’s wonderful.”

She can’t help but sympathize with the other suitors in their hatred for him. Despite all being competitors, the rest of the suitors got along well with one another. However, all of them despised Minhyun’s cocky and condescending attitude. 

Even as she spends her free time tending to the plants in her bedroom (it used to be their bedroom, but Serim’s scent of sweat and honey is long gone), she can hear the loud chatter of all the suitors outside her window. 

“It’s funny how Bighead won’t pick up a sword and fight with me,” she hears one of them sneer. “He only wants to outsing me in a singing competition. What a sissy.”

In that moment, Eunbi feels pity for the man, hearing the designated nickname the suitors used for the poor outcast, but it’s quickly drowned out by the memory of his glinting, evil eyes, looking at her like she’s some sort of prize that he would win in a competition. She returns to the small tree sapling in front of the window that she’s nursing to health. 

She thinks of Sakura. She thinks of her inability to love. After all those years, it turned out not to be an inability to love, after all. She just never loved the ones that other people wanted her to love.

THE KEYHOLDER WATCHES AS THE HERO pulls a string tight around two sticks, watching as their perpendicular form begins to form the hanging shelf that he is making. As he continues to tie sticks together, Allen places a cup of rose water in front of him.

“Drink this,” Allen says shyly, sitting down next to him in the grass. “It’s good for you.”

Serim looks at Allen in amusement. “I thought you said that you’re not the evil enchanter they say you are in the stories.”

“I’m an enchanter. I’m not evil,” Allen replies, his voice taking on a playful, defensive tone. “What makes you think that the magic I do is evil?”

“How do you even become an enchanter?” Serim asks. “Are you just born with magic, or do you have to learn it?”

Allen shrugs. “Both, I guess. Why do you ask? Do you want to learn?”

“No thanks. I don’t think my people would be very happy to find out that their king does magic. They used to kill people who practiced magic, you know.”

Allen laughs, and his magic allows him to feel the tension in Serim’s heart loosen at the sound of it. The two of them sit on the grass in silence as Serim sips the cool, sugary rose water and stares out at the sea. 

“Enchanting isn’t very hard,” Allen says quietly. “I’m just powerful because I’m immortal and I’ve been practicing it for centuries. All you have to do is harness the energy of the moon and the elements.”

The cliff that they’re sitting on faces the sea. The sun has taken a break from incessant heat, and it’s hiding behind the clouds, making the afternoon air cool and crisp. The smell of roses hangs in the air like dew. As Serim’s fingers deftly twist the string and the sticks together, a comfortable silence overtakes the pair.

Allen is the first one to break that silence. “You know, the full moon is tonight, which means I have to set out the water jars and my crystals. If you want to learn a thing or two, you could always help me.”

That’s the first time Allen sees a genuine smile from Serim. It’s a sad smile, but it’s genuine, and Allen’s heart seizes up at the sight. This man is not only handsome but adorable as well. There’s nothing in the world Allen wouldn’t do to see that smile again.

“If I’m not a bother,” Serim says, looking up from the finished hanging shelf in his hands. “I wouldn’t want to make things harder for you.”

Allen smiles shyly again, fiddling with a piece of grass as he feels a slight pink tint his cheeks. “You wouldn’t be. A bother, I mean.”

The two of them watch the waves roll off of the beach. It’s a calming afternoon, but Allen can’t help but feel that Serim’s mind is elsewhere. He’s staring off into the distance, towards the direction of a home that he wants to return to. Upon this realization, Allen swallows and stares in the other direction.

“It’s going to rain soon,” he bites, standing up. “We should go inside.”

Serim looks up, and that’s when Allen decides he should give him a hand. It’s a huge mistake, because Serim shoots him another one of his genuine smiles, except this time it’s much more lighthearted, and Allen’s heart can’t take it any longer—

Serim hoists himself up with Allen’s hand and brushes loose strands of grass off of his tunic. “Let’s go!”

THE KEYHOLDER’S second love was a lost sailor wandering the Mediterranean. A harsh storm separated him from his crew members, but he insisted that he knew his crew was alive.

Despite the harsh sun and the open waters, the sailor had skin of porcelain, and a tall, wide frame that couldn’t fit in any of Allen’s spare tunics. He was also a frequent visitor to the grapefruit tree behind Allen’s cottage.

Allen knew that this was his hero lost at sea. From the endearing way that Woobin smiled, to the way that he held Allen in his arms as they stared at the stars, he was sure that Woobin was his soulmate.

Fate was cruel to him. Woobin had to leave to return to his family, but Allen wouldn’t let him. “You can’t leave. We were fated to be together.”

No matter how many times Allen told him this and cried whenever Woobin tried to build a ship out of the birch forest near the mountain, Woobin was still gone on that one fateful day. He was just gone. There was no explanation left behind. Allen spent days searching the island, hoping Woobin was still there. Days passed until Allen accepted that Woobin was gone. 

One day, he discovered a note on the ground while he was lifting boxes.

Dear Allen,

Please do not try to look for me. I hope you can find happiness in the future, but we were never meant to be.

Woobin.

Of course Woobin would have left a loose note on the table without something to hold it down. The wind had reached its cold and sharp arms through the window of Allen’s little cottage and blown the note to the ground, to be covered with crates and bins of all sorts.

Allen tells himself that fate will bring Woobin back to him somehow, because he and Woobin were meant to be. However, as time goes on, it becomes clear that Woobin wouldn’t be coming back. Lifetimes passed, and suns set. There was no sign of Woobin anywhere.

And then Wonjin washed up on shore.

THE KEYHOLDER is absorbed in corking jars filled with water when he feels a godly presence on the island.

He looks up and glances at Serim, who is sitting by the window and staring at the volcano. Surely the goddess or god present won’t come to the house while Serim is here. He busies himself with the box of crystals he has. They wouldn’t show themselves to a mere mortal just like this. Unless… 

He looks at Serim again and realizes that the man is fast asleep. His head is resting on his elbow, and his arm holds his sleeping body up against the windowsill.

The godly presence is suddenly stronger. He turns around and he sees a woman standing in his kitchen, her arms crossed.

“Goddess Hecate,” he says, bowing his head slightly.

“Allen,” she responds. “It’s been a while. Have you been taking your practice seriously?”

Allen gestures at the jars around him. “I think you can make the inference that I have.”

“Remember that your practice is meant for good things only,” says Hecate. “Don’t abuse your magic like you did when that last man came around. You wouldn’t want to ruin your karma, would you?”

Allen bows his head. “I have learned my lesson. I will never make use of such magic again.”

“You threw away the books, I suppose?”

“I burned them,” Allen clarifies. 

“That’s good. Remember that you must never use your magic to control others, especially when they do not want to be controlled.”

Allen nods. “I will not fail you again.”

A wistful smile appears on her lips. “I’m proud of you.”

THE HERO has not once stopped thinking about returning to Ithaca. 

He has a duty there. He is a husband, a father, and a king. Ithaca is the most important place on earth to him. He has a son there, who has grown up without knowing his father. He must go back and tell his men’s families that they passed away, and give them the support they deserve. He must reunite with his wife.

Through the endless days of nothingness on the island, Serim has found comfort in his solitude on the cliff facing the ocean. Allen was right when he said that time passes differently here. 

Despite the beauty of the island, he cannot help but feel uneasy about it. There’s something about it that doesn’t make sense to him. It feels like there’s a barrier between this island and the rest of the world. Maybe it’s created by the difference in the progression of time. 

He doesn’t know. He’s a mere mortal; how would he know anything?

“Are you hungry?” 

Serim looks up and sees Allen again. He’s holding a basket and a quilt, standing above him hopefully, almost as if he’s waiting for Serim to give him permission to sit down.

Serim pats the seat next to him. “Yeah, sort of. Is it time for dinner?”

Allen sits down. “Yeah. I brought dinner outside today because I decided that the weather is good enough.”

Serim helps Allen spread out the quilt on the grass, before removing his sandals and sitting crossed legged on the blanket. Allen follows suit, and soon, the basket opens, and breads, cheeses, meats, and various kinds of sweet baked goods come out of it. 

Serim spreads a generous helping of cheese across a piece of sourdough, before taking a bite. The softness of the bread and the creaminess of the cheese floods his taste buds and reminds him of home. 

“Thank you for giving me food and hospitality,” Serim tells Allen. “I don’t know what I would do otherwise.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Allen says. “I’m a god anyway, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Why did you allow me to stay at your home?” Serim asks, genuinely curious. “If you’re immortal, why did treating me with kindness matter to you?”

“Well, I don’t get a lot of visitors here, for one,” Allen begins, spreading more cheese on a slice of bread, “so I definitely need the company, even if such company comes in the form of a mortal.”

Serim lets out a brief laugh. “Wow, so I’m really the bare minimum?” 

Allen laughs. “Definitely the bare minimum.”

“I’ll have to leave, you know.”

The sudden mention of leaving has Allen freezing up. He’s seen this coming, but he’s been avoiding it. “Yeah. Everyone who comes has to leave.”

His attempt to not sound hurt fails. 

Serim doesn’t say anything for a while. As Allen emotionlessly consumes the rest of his food, he speaks again. “So you don’t force men who end up here to stay?”

“I won’t force you to stay,” Allen says, “but you don’t have much of a choice, do you?”

“What do you mean?” Serim says, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Why do you think it’s taken you nearly a year so far to complete a trip that should have taken you two weeks?” Allen deadpans. “The gods clearly are having issues with you. The Lord of the Seas, more specifically, doesn’t like you because of your efforts in the Trojan War. He’s never going to let you get back to Ithaca. He’s going to do everything he can to blow you off course, especially since you killed his son.”

“His son?”

“Polyphemus,” Allen says. “You blinded the cyclops.”

“That was his son?!”

“Yes! But that’s beside the point,” Allen asserts. “You’re going to have to wait until the gods sort it out amongst themselves.”

Serim is silent, and to Allen, it seems to mean that the hero doesn’t like what he’s hearing. 

Allen opens the basket and takes out the small carrot cake, cutting a slice for himself. “I know you feel like you’re wasting time on here, but time passes slower on this island. Months here mean mere hours to the outside world. You just have to let things be because if you go out into the sea, there’s a good chance you won’t get to return to Ithaca at all.”

Serim lets that information sink in. When Allen places a slice of carrot cake in front of him, there’s a good amount of time that he spends staring out into the sea before he picks up the carrot cake and takes a forkful.

“When will they sort it out?”

Allen swallows his carrot cake. “I don’t know,” he cries. “Why do you want to leave so bad anyway?”

“Well,” Serim says, slowly, “I have a kingdom and a kid at home. And a wife. Does it upset you that I have to leave?”

“Of course it upsets me,” Allen says, his voice growing small. “You know, the stories are true.”

“You’re an evil enchanter?!”

“No, not that !”

“Then what?”

“I’m destined to fall in love with every man who steps foot on this island.”

Serim stares at Allen, open-mouthed.

Allen stares back. However, Serim’s gaze is too overwhelming, too overbearing, and too intense. The son of Atlas’ gaze wavers and breaks away.

“Who cursed you?” Serim whispers.

“Fate,” Allen replies, his voice low. 

Serim stares at the other man. He notices that despite the far-off look in Allen’s eyes, the two irises shine the brightest light he has ever seen in anyone’s eyes. Allen’s long eyelashes fall over his field of vision like a curtain. They seem to hide something within them; it is like they are shielding secrets in Allen’s eyes from Serim’s line of sight.

When Allen looks up, Serim is completely certain that he’s crying, but much too quickly, his empty plate is being taken from his hands and packed into the basket, before the two of them embark on a wordless journey down the cliff and back to the cottage by the beach.

THE KEYHOLDER is usually alone, but the presence of his uncle Chronus always makes him feel even more lonely. Today, as he’s pulling a couple of weeds out of one of his garden beds, he hears his uncle’s voice again.

There’s a reason why the sky was given to the god with the longest stick.

Allen jumps at the noise. He puts a hand to his heart in an effort to calm himself, but Chronus’ voice will always be engraved in an unpleasant spot within his mind.

The sky is in possession of the stars. The stars are the closest thing to fate. The way that they are aligned tells us our fate. My fate is to become powerful. I am the god of time. Time and fate coexist. The world cannot go on without me.

Allen doesn’t utter a word. He doesn’t trust himself with his words around this man. 

What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? Or do you just not want to speak to me because you’ve gotten sidetracked with that man?

“Stop,” Allen blurts out.

Stop what? Stop talking to you? You can’t possibly have forgotten about me, have you? Not when you are indebted to me. Not when I am your king. Do you understand? I am your king. There is no way you can outwit me.

Chronus’ presence slowly fades away. Only when the last whisper is unheard is when Allen begins to breathe again. 

There is one way that he can escape Chronus. But it would be impossible considering the fact that he has no power right now. 

THE KEYHOLDER AND THE HERO stand facing one another in the forest. Serim has long since dropped the axe he was holding on the floor next to him, and Allen is blinking tears away from his eyes.

“You cannot leave this island,” Allen whispers, his voice breaking in despair. “No matter how hard you try, Poseidon’s grudges against you will always pull you towards death and danger. You will stay on this island or you will die trying to leave.”

“I have a wife and a son back home!” Serim suddenly explodes, startling Allen. “I’m a king ! I have people to rule over! If I don’t return to Ithaca, I might as well die ! Do you understand? I MIGHT AS WELL DIE! I don’t care if you’re cursed to fall in love with anyone who comes here.”

Allen is silent as he stares at Serim. There’s no sound on the island except for their rapid breathing and the sound of a waterfall. 

It’s only when Allen turns around and walks away that Serim realizes that Allen is crying.

The sight of tears streaming down Allen’s cheeks is for some reason so heartbreaking that Serim clutches at his own chest and sinks to his knees. 

THE HERO sits silently at the kitchen table as Allen fixes breakfast.

They’ve not been speaking.

Serim watches Allen silently from behind him. He notices small things about the other man that he didn’t before.

The first is that Allen has ink on his arms.

When Allen turns around to fetch something from a crate beside him, he notices that Allen’s eyelashes are long, and that they flutter gracefully when he blinks.

“I’m sorry.”

Allen looks up at him, surprised at Serim’s sudden words.

“I should have known that your keeping me here isn’t motivated by your own selfish intentions,” Serim continues. “I realize that I have been cruel and insensitive towards your emotions. I sit in your home and receive your hospitality but do nothing in return. The least I can do is try to understand you.”

They stare blankly at one another for a small period of time, before Allen turns around to his counter again. “It doesn’t mean anything, the hospitality. I have nothing better to do with my time. But I do think that you should at least recognize that even if I am cursed to fall in love with every man who steps foot on this island, I wouldn’t keep you here for that sole reason.”

“I am sorry.”

Allen rests his hands on the counter, before speaking again. His voice comes out as if there is a lump stuck in his throat. “Don’t be. You’re probably not my fated one anyways.”

THE KEYHOLDER sits on the cliff during the next full moon and wonders what in the world he did to deserve a punishment so terrible.

He begs the moon to speak to him and tell him. She is, after all, an all-knowing being.

“He doesn’t love his wife, if that’s what you're wondering.”

Allen turns around and sees the moon. Her silver chiton floats in the wind around her, motile and alive, but her face is expressionless and cool. Platinum blond hair is held up in a loose knot on top of her head. She’s thin but strong, her steps confident and meaningful as she begins to walk towards him.

“Sakura,” he whispers.

She sits down next to him. “I know anyone would deem it morally incorrect to love a married man, but she has never truly loved him and he doesn’t love her. At least, not anymore.”

“How do you know this?” Allen asks in shock. His question is laced with skepticism and shock. 

“I’m the moon. I see everything,” Sakura almost deadpans, as if that fact is incredibly obvious and Allen is just blind.

“Then why does he want to return to her so much?” Allen’s eyes are wide.

The moon puts her head on her cousin’s shoulder in an act of endearment. “Human beings are creatures of routine,” she says. “He wants to return because, well, if you were stuck on a ship for a year, not knowing what perils every single day would bring, you would want to find a sense of normalcy, would you not? He has a son and a life back home.”

Allen nods, finding sense in Sakura’s words.

“In truth,” the moon says, “I am responsible for his wife’s infidelity. I rarely dwell amongst mortals, but this mortal was different.”

Allen gapes at Sakura in shock. “So is that why she doesn’t love him? Because she loves you?”

Sakura purses her lips. “Well, it is not my fault that she cannot love him. Well, she loves him, but not in the way you would think. But the point is, she is sapphic. A lesbian, to be more precise.”

“Does she know she is?”

“Yes. But like I told you, human beings are creatures of routine. She still loves him, but not in the way you would think.”

“Do you love her?”

The moon does not respond for some time. The silence between the two of them is deafening. Then, she says, “I think so, yes.”

“Would it not be better if they went their separate ways?”

Allen can hear Sakura’s thoughts as she thinks. They are loud, yet he does not know what she is thinking. Then, she says, “We are told not to associate ourselves with mortals.”

The simple statement alone is just a reiteration of basic principle, but it says a lot. It puts a cap over any of Allen’s hopes and intentions. It says, I know what you’re thinking and I don’t like it.

Nonetheless, the statement doesn’t discourage him.

“Sakura, fate is set in stone, but we cannot relinquish something under the pretense that it is predetermined. Everything is written in fate but what we do is reflected in those threads. We don’t know what those threads hold. But they will always reflect what we do. I have been sitting on this island for eons! Why not help me put me out of my own misery of eternal banishment?”

The moon is silent. The two cousins bask in the silence for a bit of time, before she says, “Perhaps you are right.”

Allen doesn’t respond. He waits for her to say something.

She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she removes her head from his shoulder and gets up, returning to the sky in a flurry of silver light.

THE HERO wakes up from the dream.

The first thing he does is register what the dream entailed. 

He sat on the beach of the island. He was not sure why he was there, but he was sitting on the sand, cross-legged and facing the water.

The water began to close in on the land slowly. It crawled closer and closer to his feet, and soon, a woman materialized in front of him.

She was a beautiful being. Dark locks cascaded down her backside. She was extremely beautiful, with large eyes and full lips. She was a sight to behold. Serim sensed that she was a greater being than he was, so he kept his head low towards her.

“I cannot believe I have to speak to a mortal for Selene’s sake. You know she told me that I owed her something? That if she did not exist, then I would not either, because of the gravitational pull of the moon on the waters?” The woman scoffed, and as Serim watched her hair cascaded down her womanly figure, he realized that she was Aphrodite, goddess of love.

“More like the goddess of eyes-up-here,” she said, clapping her hands in front of his face. “Men are disgusting. No decency. You’re cute though. Maybe I won’t completely blow you into smithereens.”

Serim was confused. Why would a goddess, a higher being, a worshipped deity be speaking to him?

“You must be wondering why I’m here.”

He nodded in confusion.

“I’m honestly just here to tell you that your wife doesn’t love you because she’s sapphic.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. “Is that a joke?”

“Oh, poor mortal man,” she uttered. That statement alone made him feel small. She stood up to her full height and screamed, “AM I A JOKE TO YOU?!”

He flinched. She sat back down. “I may seem like I am only pulling your leg, but I do not know how you did not realize that your wife is a lesbian. She loves you, but not in the way that you think. In addition, I see that you have fallen out of love with your wife. You know, maybe it would be a good idea to realize that the two of you were good friends. Just good friends. You do not love each other! You have a kingdom, but your son can inherit the crown.”

She’s so condescending, Serim thought. 

“Men are so stupid. You guys don’t realize that society is built in a way that our identities rely on you. You should have seen earlier that your wife is not genuinely attracted to you, but you’re stupid and blind. Like all other men are. And you fall out of love so easily. Your mortality is weak and distorts your concept of time. You cannot even comprehend your own emotion and attraction. Or the lack thereof.”

And with that, she was gone. Just like that.

Present Serim looks over at the sleeping face of Allen and registers that a goddess just visited him in a dream. 

He then registers what she said.

Or… he doesn’t register what she said.

What the fuck, he thinks.

THE KEYHOLDER notices Serim’s odd behavior.

It’s been almost a year since Serim ended up on this island, and the shift in Serim’s energy started weeks ago. Allen’s not blind. He knows that something is wrong. Serim is more silent than usual, a brooding energy falling around him like rain clouds. Heavy bags grow under his eyes from the lack of sleep, and he never really seems to be present . He’s always mentally preoccupied with something, and he stares at the sea even more.

Allen, being the worrywart that he is, spends nights awake wondering what happened. 

Summer nights are short but cool. Every night, when it is not rainy or humid, they carry a basket full of pastries up to the cliff, where they lay a quilt down on the floor and bask in silence or long conversations. It’s never an in between for them; it’s either dead silent or alive with their words and stories.

“When you walk into a clearing like this and look up at the sky, you remember how truly small and insignificant you are,” Serim says. “I have responsibilities but it’s refreshing to remind myself that I really don’t matter that much. That there are a million more stars than there are of me. And that one day, I will likely be just another wandering spirit in the fields of asphodel.”

“You’ll make it to Elysium,” Allen says. “You fought in Troy.”

“I don’t know if that is enough,” Serim admits.

“What do you mean you don’t think it’s enough?” says Allen. “All heroes go to Elysium. You think you’re just any mortal?”

Serim looks horribly flustered, as if he’s struggling to find the right words to refute Allen’s claim. He’s laughing silently into the back of his palm, before he says, “I’m not that special.”

“Hey, Serim! You think you’re not special? Your name will be on the names of storytellers for centuries. You’ll never die even if you pass away. Think about that.”

“That’s glorious. Sounds great to me. Looks like I don’t have to do anything else after this,” Serim jokes. “Just kidding, I’m not lazy or selfish. Dear gods, please hear my prayer and have mercy on me.”

There’s another pause, before Allen sits up and faces the ocean to watch the waves bounce off the shore.

The moon is waning, but it still provides enough light for him to see the ocean. This is where he’s lived his entire life. This is where he will spend his life for an eternity. 

He senses Serim’s presence behind his shoulder. The man has also sat up, and he’s right behind Allen.

“Maybe I will make it to the Elysian Fields after all,” he whispers softly.

Their fingers brush, and on impulse, Allen turns around. He’s greeted with Serim’s face just inches away from his own. The strong jaw, the arched eyebrows, the cleft chin, and his eyes . His eyes are so deep…

And suddenly, his lips are on his.

There's no pressure in the kiss, but it’s filled with emotions that Allen can’t pinpoint. The rational side of his mind is suddenly quiet, silenced by shock and other overwhelming emotions that have him melting into the kiss because there’s just no other plausible action for him… 

Serim’s hands reach up to cup his face, pressing his lips deeper into Allen’s, and that’s when Allen feels the desperate need that radiates off of Serim. The need to open up and show Allen all of his secrets. The need to tell Allen everything that he has been holding back from him.

Heat envelopes the two of them as one hand moves from Allen’s face down to the curve of his waist. Allen can’t help but lean into the hand on his waist. It’s the touch that he’s craved for eons and eons. It’s another thing on the long list of factors making him melt into a pile of nerves and muscle. 

And that’s when Serim pulls away, his mortal lungs unable to take the lack of oxygen.

Allen, disoriented, flutters his eyelashes and looks around aimlessly. When he comes to, he realizes.

He realizes what he’s done.

He stands up suddenly, startling Serim. They stare at one another in shock. Words and sentences go unsaid; emotions remain unexpressed. Yet somehow, everything remains tied together in the bubble of shock.

Allen’s not sure what he feels. He just turns and walks in the path that they came from. He walks away from the emotions in the air.

Yet somehow, the emotions cling to him like the scent of a flower. There’s no running from the way you feel, but Allen tries to anyway. He walks faster and faster down the cliff. Steps become sprinting, and the sprinting continues, and eventually, he collapses against a tree in the middle of somewhere, heavy tears of shame that he didn’t even realize he was crying running down his cheeks like rain. 

THE KEYHOLDER cannot even look the Hero in the eye.

They’re in the same place.

“I know it was rash of me,” Serim breathes, making Allen look up in surprise. “I know it was rash of me to act on my feelings before I spoke about them.”

“I’m just…” Allen trails off. “Since when did you… since when did you suddenly feel towards me?”

“I-I’m not sure,” Serim said. He looks into the waves of the ocean. “I don’t know when. Maybe it was when I first saw you smile. Maybe it was the first time we watched the stars on this cliff. I don’t know.”

“I don’t know why you think you can just say this.” Allen speaks harshly. “If your goal is what I think it is, know that I’m not naive enough to fall for what you’re saying. You can’t take advantage of me. I’m a god, not a mortal like you are.”

“How would I be taking advantage of you?” Serim asks incredulously but quietly.

“You have a wife. Didn’t you say that?”

Silence hangs in the air, before Serim says, “The goddess of love came to me in a dream, you know.”

Allen looks at him in shock.

“She told me that I have been blind this whole time,” he says. “There’s no use in denying that she’s right. I’ve been too caught up in the thought of my life returning to normal that I failed to realize that such a desire to return to normalcy was consuming me. I failed to realize that I was not in love with my wife anymore.”

“You know,” he continued, “she told me that my wife never loved me. And now that I look back on it, she’s right.”

Allen doesn’t know what to say.

“I am not sure if I want to go back anymore, because I do not know if I want to find out how Ithaca has changed since I left. The only thing that I worry about is the fact that I have responsibilities, and the gods of Olympus would detest me were I to relinquish these responsibilities. But as long as I am on this island, I will cherish you.”

“You know,” Allen says, “your wife was never faithful. The goddess of the moon chose her to be her consort, at one point.”

Serim doesn’t say anything for a while. When he finally does, he says, “I’m not surprised. I think I would be surprised and upset if I found out a bit of time ago, but…”

“You would be immortal if you stayed here, you know. I could make you immortal if you promised to stay with me forever.”

“I suppose so,” Serim murmurs.

“I can’t stop you if you want to leave. But I will also cherish you for as long as you are here.”

Serim looks up, and they share an easy smile.

Allen’s heart soars.

THE HERO realizes that really, nothing has changed between them despite the establishment of their mutual attraction. They resume their daily routine, eating fresh pastries that Allen makes from the woodstove oven and laughing as they play around in the sea. 

One night, Serim turns to Allen and realizes that Allen is not asleep. He reaches over and takes Allen’s hand. When the other man looks at him questioningly, he laces their fingers together.

It is so quiet that he can hear Allen’s heartbeat.

One day, while Allen is busy molding cookie dough into bits, Serim suddenly has the urge to put his arms around Allen’s small waist.

And so he does it.

Serim doesn’t miss the small smile on Allen’s lips.

One night, as the stars shine bright over the head, Serim realizes something. He realizes that he doesn’t want to go back to Ithaca.

THE GODDESS OF MARRIAGE watches from her throne on Mount Olympus as Penelope unravels the burial shawl for the umpteenth time.

Penelope, or Eunbi, is holding onto something that she herself has been holding onto for the longest time.

Hera glances at her husband, who is deep in thought about the recent events of the Trojan War. The argument that the gods had amongst themselves today was less destructive than the last one they had. If anything, things were looking better than they were before. 

She knows she doesn’t love him anymore. It’s rather obvious, but she holds onto what she believes. Stability is key, she reminds herself. Marriage comes with responsibility.

She then looks over at Aphrodite.

“Hyunjin,” she calls, causing the beautiful goddess to look up and stare into her eyes with disdain.

“Save it,” Hyunjin replies, cutting her off. “You’ve won this time.”

“We are not completely different,” Hera reminds her. “We just have differing opinions when it comes to the extremes.”

“You don’t think I know that, Yuri?”

Hera flinches at the tone directed towards her. “Don’t start again, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. Again, Yuri finds herself enraptured by her beauty, and how it makes her look much more stricken when she’s upset.

Then, she says, “You’ll see one day, Hera . You’ll see how love always wins.”

She’s gone before Yuri can say anything back to her. 

When she looks back into the circle of the thrones, Zeus and Poseidon are speaking. Zeus looks tired, and Poseidon looks frustrated. 

“Send the nereids,” he says. “Make sure that the man gets home anytime in the next month.”

THE KEYHOLDER should have seen it.

First, the nereids start appearing near the island again. One day, as he’s collecting seashells from the beach, he sees the vague outlines of a woman walking on the water. Then, she dives back into the water, disappearing into the vast expanse of blue that was Poseidon’s realm.

He sees the horses come back to the island for the first time since the last horse disappeared right before Serim’s arrival. He remembers being confused why they were gone, but simply dismissing it as something that the gods were involved in. However, when Serim washed up on shore, it all made sense. 

Allen has long since learned that Poseidon is not responsible for sending these sailors his way; it’s Fate. Fate sends his heroes his way. Fate makes his heart break over and over.

Allen always wondered how the Olympian gods could have so much hate in their hearts. How they could hold onto their grudges for the rest of their eternal lives. However, it seemed that truly, this time, Poseidon had forgiven Serim.

What does he do? He doesn’t want Serim to leave.

So he simply ignores these signs. They mean nothing. Just because Poseidon has forgiven does not mean that Serim has to, or wants to go back. However, one night, as a thunderstorm rages outside, Allen has a terrible feeling otherwise.

He looks over at Serim’s sleeping form. He looks younger, his hair swept to the side to reveal his arched eyebrows and well-formed face. The textured muscles of his bare chest rise and fall slowly, and occasionally, his eyebrows furrow, and his biceps and jaw curl and flex. This is all Allen has wanted to see his entire time on this lonely island: his Hero sleeping soundly next to him. However, he can’t help but be consumed by fear.

Fear that everything will go back to the way it used to be.

The next morning, he and Serim eat slices of bread slathered with cheese by the beach, before Serim removes his tunic and steps into the water.

Allen follows, and they slowly wade further and further into the sea. At one point, Serim picks him up by the thighs and puts Allen’s thicker legs around his waist. It’s almost second nature the way Allen wraps his arms around Serim’s neck. They stare at each other, letting time fly by while the two of them remain in a small rift where they’ll always seemingly be safe from the threat of time moving too quickly.

Serim touches the ink on Allen’s skin, admiring the way that each and every little mark existed so naturally. It was like he was born with them.

“What does this mean?” Serim whispers.

“It means don’t give up,” Allen replies, too enraptured in the depth of Serim’s whirlpool eyes to say anything more.

They stay in their little moment for a while longer. “You’re beautiful,” Serim murmurs, his lips against Allen’s. “You’ve always been beautiful to me.”

And then they feel the rain pouring down amongst them. It’s sudden, the way that the air fills with rain droplets. Off in the distance, the sound of thunder startles the both of them, causing their heads to snap towards the noise.

Hastily, Serim removes Allen’s legs from his waist, and they both begin to swim towards the shore. Having strong leg muscles and his own immortality, Allen is a faster swimmer. He’s ahead of Serim by several feet.

They hear thunder again, this time much closer, and Allen can sense Serim paddling faster. He can sense Serim’s fear.

When Allen reaches the shore, he reaches over to help Serim out of the water. Serim gasps desperately, reaching for Allen’s hand.

Right behind Serim, Allen sees Death.

Death is reaching towards Serim’s semi-submerged figure with his gray, calloused hands. His eyes are hollow, unsympathetic, and empty. He’s seconds away from grabbing Serim by the ankle. However, Serim’s foot emerges from the water just a split second before Allen sees lightning flash right where the sea merges with the Ogygian time rift, and Death is suddenly gone, his hollow eyes nowhere to be seen as Serim collapses on the dry sand, panting.

Allen’s too shocked to do anything else besides stare at the water. He looks back at Serim, then back at the water, then at Serim again. One look at Serim and anyone would see strength and resilience in his tan skin, his lean form, and his glittering black eyes framed by arched, intimidating eyebrows. But this man could die at any time. He can never be resurrected or brought back by reincarnation unless his soul is ever pure enough for the Isles of the Blest.

This way, he realizes that everything that he has gained in the last few months is hanging by a thin string. Serim’s mortality is more fragile than the most delicate glass figurine. 

That night, they lay on the beach and watch the stars. However, when Allen feels a godly presence on the island, he knows he has to accept that it’s the end.

“Hermes,” he says, without looking.

Serim is asleep, so he doesn’t hear Allen addressing the messenger god.

“Calypso,” Hermes says. “I think you know why I’m here.”

“I don’t,” Allen says, his voice heavy with sorrow. “I don’t know why you’re here. Please enlighten me.”

“Hera insists that Odysseus return to his wife and child in Ithaca,” says Hermes. “Wake him up. I have to tell him directly.”

Allen turns and prods Serim reluctantly.

“Wake up,” Hermes says behind him. He repeats it, louder and harsher. “Wake up!”

Serim stirs and opens his eyes. His eyes land on Allen’s, and a small smile plays on his lips before he looks up and sees Hermes.

“I am the messenger of the gods,” says Hermes. “The Queen of the Skies herself insists that you return to Ithaca. You have a family to uphold, and you must fulfill your duties as a husband and a man.”

Serim sits up in shock. He stares at Hermes in shock. “What do you mean?”

Hermes sighs. “She says that you have to go back to Ithaca because you have the ability to at this point. The conflict between the gods has settled down, and Poseidon will no longer threaten your life if you make yourself known in his realm. You have nothing standing in the way between you and your responsibilities. If you do not leave the island by daybreak, you will have to suffer consequences.”

With a single emotionless glance at Allen, Hermes is immediately gone.

THE HERO doesn’t remember why he ever wanted to go back to Ithaca.

Thinking about it now, he has nothing there and everything here, doesn’t he? Eleven years at war and at sea made sure that there would be nothing from him back where he once lived. 

When he holds Allen in his arms, he cries just as hard as Allen, if not harder. He cries for himself, and the years of his life that he wasted to war. He cries for his wife and child, who would have to face him after eleven years without him around. He cries for Allen, who would have to wait another lifetime before another hero is sent his way. Finally, he simply cries. Because he is not destined to be Allen’s, and Allen is not destined to be his.

With tear-filled eyes, Allen says, “Show me you love me. Just one last time…”

So Serim does. He holds Allen’s face in his hands, admiring every little feature of his face. His sparkling brown eyes, his pink lips, and the little nose. He counted the eyelashes obscuring Allen’s eyes from his own.

Allen is strong, but Serim is stronger. There’s another thunderstorm tonight. As it pours outside, Serim’s kissing becomes heated. Allen feels more pressure against his lips; it's the type of kiss that leaves you gasping for breath but wanting more despite the threat of running out of air.

It’s the kiss that leads them to where they are now; Serim’s hands circling around Allen’s waist, with Allen’s back pressed into the sheets and an increasing need for more heat between the two of them. 

But even through all this heat, Serim still finds fresh tears in his own eyes. When Allen’s muscles tense and his eyes glass over, Serim marvels at the beauty of his lover. Black hair splayed out across the bedsheets and pink, bruised lips calling out a name that has made him forget his own, and thick eyelashes that flutter like a butterfly are what Allen is right now. Serim sighs and brushes clumps of matted, sweaty black hair away from Allen’s face. It’s all too unfittingly calm, even as the thunderstorm outside rages and wails. 

However, by the next morning, he’s gone, leaving Allen with nothing but emptiness and pain. 

DEATH WALKS RIGHT BEHIND THE HERO as he walks down the road to his home.

It’s pitch black, except for the light of the moon. Death observes the Hero as he walks down the road sullenly. He matches the Hero’s moderate pace. 

He thinks about how his abilities allow him to control the living just as well as he can control the dead.

Death walks right into the body of the Hero. It’s a subtle and quick merge. Nevertheless, Death’s relatively slow pace becomes brisk as he scales the road. Eventually, the home of the King of Ithaca comes into view, and he slips in easily without being noticed.

Death doesn’t need daggers or objects to kill anyone. But as he is in his human form, he picks up a knife from the kitchens and slips out before anyone notices. 

The first suitor dies quickly. He does not scream for help, silenced by the dagger in Death’s hands.

The second one is the same, as if the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh. On his eighth turn, he encounters a small mishap.

The man in his arm lets out a shrill cry before Death can silence him. Perhaps Death is being careless. Nevertheless, he moves on.

He enters the room of a suitor (he lost count how many men there were in Penelope and Odysseus’ home at this point). This death is quick and silent as well, as Death muffles the screams with the hands of this poor mortal man whose form he overtook. However, when he looks up, he sees the door wide open, and a short man by the name of Ha Minhyun standing in the door frame with his eyes and mouth wide open in shock.

Minhyun runs from his sight, and that’s when Death knows that truly, he has been careless. Nevertheless, he must go on with his mission. He goes to the next room, and the next. However, as he moves down the hallway, he suddenly sees a young man in front of him.

This man’s youth is clear and bright like the sun. However, he has matured much too fast. And he’s heading straight for Death himself.

So Death makes the choice to leave.

THE HERO stares at the man in front of him in shock.

It’s too late now, because there’s a knife in his chest. But he whispers, “Telemachus, do you not recognize your own father?”

“Serim!” he hears a woman’s voice cry out. But it’s too late. His vision is going dark. 

THE GODDESS OF LOVE screams at Hera in fury.

“Are you happy now, Yuri?” she cries. “He’s dead and so are all the men in that house. You always wanted marriage. But you know what is stronger than marriage? Death.”

“It’s not like Love is any better than Death, is it now?” Yuri retorts. 

The walkway of the balcony is empty and silent save for the two of them. 

“Oh yeah?” Hyunjin whispers brokenly, her chest rising and falling violently as she walks closer to Yuri. “I’ll show you. I’ll fucking show you.”

THE MOON usually conducts her nightly trips across the sky with ease and no distractions.

However, tonight, she’s being pestered by a goddess whose stubborn mind and pleading words make her want to give in.

“Please, Sakura. I know you want to agree with me. Why can’t you just go through with what I say? I know you want to. You can’t just let your own pride stop you. I’ve never seen you love someone the way you loved that woman. And you’re the one who came and begged me to come to him the dream! You’re the one who wanted them to be together. You have to let me make this constellation.”

“Fine!” Sakura snaps.

“What?”

It seems like Hyunjin is genuinely shocked.

“Just one constellation. No more than that.”

“O-Okay. I… wow. I didn’t think it was going to be that easy…”

Sakura halts her trip and turns around to face the goddess of love. “I think I know what you were getting at, you know. When you said that love always prevails.”

Hyunjin looks distressed and relieved at the same time. “I have a lot to think about… I had a Plan B, you know. I was going to hunt down Death.”

“Isn’t that impossible?”

“What is?”

“Hunting down Death. How do you even find him?”

Hyunjin smiles. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m special.”

“I always liked you,” Sakura says, picking up the reigns of her chariot and continuing her trip. “Set the constellation wherever you want. You’ll probably be tired when you finish because creating stars in the sky takes a lot of divine force, but you’ll manage.”

When Sakura becomes a speck in the horizon, Hyunjin looks down at the sea, where her power is concentrated. She takes pride in knowing that Poseidon might be the king of the oceans, but she can bend water better than he ever will be able to. Then, she channels the power of the waves and the sea foam and watches as stars form around her.

The Hero’s soul is first. Hermes appears in front of her.

“I expected you to do this,” Hermes says, smiling. He hands her the soul of The Hero. “He’s all yours.”

The Keyholder is more complicated to deal with. She closes her eyes and uses the gravitational pull of the stars to summon him. When he appears in front of her, his eyes are blank and lifeless.

She embraces him and wipes his tears away. “Don’t cry, Allen. Don’t cry. You’re going to be alright. You won’t have to suffer anymore.”

And just like that, a new constellation formed in the sky. 

The Fate turns to her other two sisters. “I think it is time that I receive that tapestry back.”

“I think so as well,” her first sister replies.

“I think so as well,” her second sister echoes.

The tapestry is in the kitchen of the former home of the Keyholder. The silvers, blacks, blues, red, and yellows that make up the constellation in the tapestry all mold together and make sense again, now that she looks at it.

Why does it have to be this way, a voice says. 

“Because it was destined to be this way,” says the Fate.

I had a future as well, whispered the god of time. Do you really have nothing good for me?

“Patience,” she says. 

Serim and Allen embrace each other in the skies, finally united. 

“I love you,” Serim whispers, and it’s easy for Allen to repeat the phrase back. That night, they glitter beautifully in the night sky.

And that is why love prevails over all, even over Death himself.